66. Antonio

We’re monitoring the feeds near the AC units, as is Will’s team in London.

The house is twenty-five thousand square feet and runs on fifteen separate units confined to the cellar and attic. The men are working together, which seems strange since this is a big job. I don’t believe for one second the middle-aged guy is an apprentice.

My eyes are glued to the feeds, but it’s like waiting for mold to grow. I don’t have the patience for this type of activity. I prefer to assume it’s mold and douse the son of a bitch with bleach before the spores appear.

“That looks like it could be a small canister,” someone from the London team says.

Lucas enlarges the image. The object is tiny, and I would have never recognized it as a canister.

“That’s not a component that should be part of that unit,” a woman remarks.

“A bomb?” a man behind me asks.

“Aerosolized poison,” Lucas replies. “The Russians love poison.”

“Maybe,” the woman from London replies. “It would be my first guess. You need to proceed as though it’s a highly lethal toxin.” Someone says something to her that I can’t understand. “Remember the terrorist threat on the Japanese transit system?” she continues. “This could be a similar nerve gas. I suspect the cooling unit is the conductor, and it will release the toxin when it’s turned back on. Get everybody out of that damn house.”

We have people who can defuse a bomb on site, as well as a team to manage chemical agents, and testing capability. All thanks to Will, who is involved in sketchy shit and almost as invested in this outcome as I am.

“Grab those two bastards and take them out back. Secure the canisters using an abundance of caution. Test whatever’s inside so we know exactly what we’re dealing with,” I order. “Everybody else, away from the house.”

* * *

One of therepairmen is a career criminal who has served time for armed robbery, and the other is an actual HVAC guy looking to pick up some extra cash on the side. He has a clean record.

Neither of them is a mastermind, but they know something.

“Who gave you the canisters?” I ask the two idiots tied to a trellis out back.

“Don’t say a fucking thing,” the one with the prior criminal record hisses. “He’ll kill you.”

I pull out my knife and tap the blade against my palm. “If by he, you mean me, I will kill you if you don’t answer my questions truthfully.”I run my blade against the throat of the real repairman, who has already pissed his pants. He’s the most likely to turn quickly, although he might not know as much. “Where did you get the canisters?”

“A Russian,” he sputters.

“What’s his name?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“What about you? You know?” I ask his friend, making sure he sees the blade in my hand.

“Some oligarch. Never told us his name.”

“Really?” I ask, sticking the knifepoint into his bicep.

“Fuck,” he shouts. “I don’t know his name.”

“What’s in the canisters?”

“Freon.”

“Freon my ass.” I plunge the knife into his thigh. More screams. It’s not anywhere near as satisfying as it will be to hear Nikitin’s screams, but it’ll suffice for now.

“It’s some chemical,” the repairman says quickly. The guy is shitting his pants.

“What kind of chemical?”

“We don’t know the details. We were just told to be very careful, and not to open them. He told us to put one into the coolest part of each condenser and turn the system on high before we left. He said we should tell you that the system had to be kept on high overnight.”

“Where do you meet him?” I ask the criminal, holding my knife to his throat for incentive.

Every muscle in his body contracts. “A speakeasy. In Marrakesh.”

Mikhail and his men are in Marrakesh. “I want a name and an exact location.”

Lucas holds up his phone: Sarin

Nerve gas. Jesus Christ.

“We told you everything we know,” the criminal groans. “We want our money.”

“Your money?” I want to slit his throat, and I will, but I might still need him.

“Before we discuss money, this is what we’re going to do,” I say to the repairman. “You’re going to call the man who hired you. You have a way to reach him, right?”

He nods.

“Tell him that you’re having trouble getting some of the condensers open. Ask him which ones he wants you to work on. Keep him on the phone for as long as you can. Don’t say anything that will tip him off, or I’ll kill you and everyone you love.”

Some men might choose to let the repairman live since he’s giving up useful information, but not me. But I’ll make his end quick and relatively painless. The other asshole, though, he’s going to bleed out slowly.

“Somebody give him a script and set him up to make the contact.” I turn to Lucas. “Alert Mikhail. We’ll track the call to a precise location, and Mikhail can grab him and bring him to us.”